By, Sandra Monday


You can never go home

Is what they say

When you try to

It’s like the Mendela effect has everything erased

No Happ’s cafe just an empty green space

Condemned wood slated rusted tin roof roach ridden child hood home

Where stands empty the windows cavernous sockets.

Rubble and weeds remain silent where Pic n Save burned to the ground

Motorcycles Rev through the streets with a sound full of anger

Florida’s best kept secret doesn’t cotton to outsiders

And suddenly I realize that’s what I always was even when I lived here.

I wandered among fields of phlox alone picking them for Amma

Who would always smile kindly and put them in what appeared to be crystal and delicate

I clung to the ill-tempered woman at the library, who oddly liked me, but very few other people

 all that’s left of her is a plaque on the building

I remember refinishing and painting chairs with Mrs. Deece in the Sunday school room,

 loving how shiny the lacquer made our wooden table.

There’s a plaque for her too, and no children anymore.

Ms. Padgett’s decaying Victorian home where she told her stories of the school burning down in 1920

Tells me there is nothing here for me anymore.

 Mr. Bluemont the sign painter who lived in a 2 room house behind us and gave me

My very first box of oil pastels is a ghost at my side

To memories od Grandmother Saul’s making me believe the large fork and spoon on the wall was for

their Giant guests who came to dinner to Grandfather Sauls trying to teach me to fly a Cessna

Making me think I was going to die when he turned off the engine and let it drop 1000ft.

I went home sobbing and pulled out the lightning ball, Uncle Harry’s last Christmas gift for me in 1991

Right before he died

I put my forehead on it until the glass grew warm

And imagined it as electric kisses from God zapping straight

Into my amygdala

For 3 days I stopped eating

And cleansed

I just couldn’t shake the sadness that struck me with

Brutal force in Eden cemetery Friday morning as I sat

My mother’s grave while the children played

They know nothing of rejection or abandonment

And at least from me they never will.

The ugly woman with the bull dog face

Would not let me see my father. I saw a curtain flicker and a lie was told.

She thinks I don’t deserve a father, but now I realize it is my father

Who does not deserve





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